


The Alternate Months

by julliel



Series: Streetwalker [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Skinny Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julliel/pseuds/julliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had never taken on a real lover. One that only paid in soft whispers and softer kisses. Darcy's shrewder than that. But if she allowed herself to entertain such idle thought, well, she had a certain fella in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alternate Months

**Author's Note:**

> There's a special place in my heart for hooker!Darcy.

**November**

 

In all her life, Darcy had never paid anyone any mind if they talked about her, and she was not about to start now.

 

She can hear the whispers. Insults hurled at just the right decibel to be labelled whispering but loud enough for her to hear. Not that she cares one smidgen. Those old, widowed windbags can gossip as much as they like. Darcy probably earns enough to buy them twice over, but she's classier than that, believe it or not.

 

It does give her a petty sort of joy when a customer picks her up in plain view. She shoots them a sly smirk and revels in their scandalized squawks.

 

She knows why they judge her, of course. Prostitution is not for everyone. But Darcy's a smart gal. She knows the best ways to avoid pregnancy and she seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to which customers have the sexual sickness. She knows exactly how much she's worth and makes sure she gets every penny of it too. The work ain't half bad neither.

 

Not that she lives a glamorous lifestyle. Far from it.

 

She keeps an old five-floor walkup on the other side of town. Not the richest area by far, but definitely not the poorest. If she doesn't come home for a day or two, she can be confident that no one had thought to raid her apartment.

 

She doesn't spend much on possessions either. Her apartment is free of any designations that would signal someone actually lived in it. No picture frames. No books. Only a bed with a mattress soft enough to give her a good night's sleep and a single wooly blanket to keep her warm during the winter months. Not that she spends a whole lot of time sleeping in her own bed anyway. She would occasionally put down the cash for a brand name perfume here or there but only to better ensnare her customers.

 

The only things she truly splurges on is her wardrobe. It's a luxury that she enjoys to the best of her ability. The feel of silk across her body and soft, sensual touch of fur during the colder times of year. Even her stockings are silk and they glow under the light of the street lamps as she walks on by in her shiny, leather shoes. It doesn't hurt that she attracts a richer form of customers in such a wardrobe, but she purchases all these things for herself. The only indulgences she takes in this life.

 

She had never taken on a real lover. One that only paid in soft whispers and softer kisses. Darcy's shrewder than that. But if she allowed herself to entertain such idle thought, well, she had a certain fella in mind.

 

She first saw him in the local library. He looked like one of those cathedral angels amongst the golden dust of the book stacks in the afternoon light. Not that she goes to any kind of church (she had a long held, irrational fire of catching on fire the moment she would step into one), but she'd seen pictures of them in those architecture books and was sure that his pouting lips and long eyelashes would grant him immortality in some sort of art form.

 

Every time she visits the library, she sees this mysterious boy. He doesn't always read. Some times he'll simply sit there and draw, content with the images of musty bookshelves and the occasional library patron. She wonders if he ever sketches her.

 

She suddenly imagines them necking in one of the deserted alcoves in the back of the library, where none but the librarian at the end of the day would ever venture. She imagines herself boxing him in the corner with her arms up like cage bars and his soft, small hands that reach up to cup her breasts, the excess spilling over his fingers.

 

Then she sees him in the alleyway, beat up with a busted up lip, making it pout like a girl's and she'd never want to a kiss a boy (for free) so much before. She takes out a handkerchief, 100% silk and the highest quality brand according to her last gent, to dab at the still flowing blood.

 

“Stop getting into fights there, kid.”

 

He looks like at her like he wants to say something, but ends up biting at his lip (his gorgeous, bloody, pouting lip) and swallowing his words.

 

Against her better judgement, she runs a lacquered nail down the pouting dip of his bottom lip. She's not sure if her sudden lust showed on her face, but she gets up and hustles away, sure that now he thinks her to be the biggest freak in town. Forget it, Darcy. He'd never fall for a whore like you.

 

**December**

 

It seems like he's finally got the balls to ask her out (or the prostitute's version of “asking out” she thinks wryly to herself). So when they get to his place and he pushes her off, she's more than a little confused as to why he even bothered paying for her.

 

This is what he wants from her right? This is what she's good at.

 

But he grants her a night off and wishes her a “Merry Christmas.” Her hearts skips a beat, and fuck she is already so far gone for this boy and he's not even the richest of her customers either, damn you heart. She doesn't know a thing about him (except that he goes to the library and reads a lot and sometimes sketches and that he'd defend anyone against any bully no matter how much it will hurt him in the end). It's too early to say that it's love.

 

But just in case she's about to say something nonsensical like “I think I like you, kid”, she takes him into her mouth, and he lets out such a stuttering sigh that she wonders if she's sent him into an asthmatic fit. But he breathes easy after that initial scare and hesitantly puts his hands on her head like he doesn't know where else to put them.

 

She knows she can do better that that, make him lose all sense of propriety and control. She swallows the rest of him, fighting the urge to choke, and gives a great _suck_. He curses -and by God she finds that so sexy when he clearly curbs his own sailor tongue around her presence as if she were a lady.

 

And maybe that's why she's doing him the favor now. If any other guy wanted to give her a “day off” then she'd gladly take his money and return back to her post. Why would a girl turn down easy money? But this is Steve, her new friend (her crush, a little voice whispers), the one who seems to see much more of her than most people do and it touches her heart in a way that has never been before.

 

Also if his cock feels delicious in her mouth it's only a bonus.

 

=

 

This is third time she comes over, and by now she realizes that he prefers talking to her like his girlfriend before getting down to business. She flops down on his squeaky mattress, doesn't bother with any grace now that she knows he's a sure thing.

 

He winces at the sight of red, throbbing edges of her feet as she toes off her heels. She'd had a dry spell (in terms of her customers) today and so ended up just standing the night away until Steve had come to request her.

 

He takes her legs by the ankles and places them in his lap, her heels dipping into the valley of his closed legs.

 

She opens her mouth to ask what he think he's doing but instead of words, a heady moan comes out.

 

He's got steady, knowing fingers digging into the sore muscles of her feet and the pleasure is so great she imagines coming from this alone. He continues kneading her sore feet, rubbing the hurt from her heels to the arch to the joints of her toes. No one had ever thought to touch her like this, with such care and attention to her pleasure alone.

 

She doesn't realize how much she's moaning until she opens her eyes and sees the red glow of his face and the hard line of his cock through his pants. He seems resolute in ignoring his own condition, instead focusing on massaging the pain out of her.

 

“Enough,” she says.

 

“Um, was I not good?” Poor baby thinks he's so terrible at it.

 

“You were perfect.” She can't resist giving him a sweet peck on the lips as reassurance. “But I have a different kind of massage in mind.”

 

He lights up, eager to please her in any way he can.

 

She ends up riding him till they're both a panting, sweating mess. She wants to tell him that the very feel of him inside of her is a massage enough by itself, but she settles for draping herself bonelessly over him.

 

He apologizes for having an uncomfortable body for cuddling. Darcy shushes him and holds him tight to her own lush softness.

 

=

 

“I have something for you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

She feels an old resentment bubble up. She hated it when customers bought her jewelry or fur coats or things. It made her feel like they thought of her as their mistress, like she was their kept woman when really, she's the one in control here. She's not here to get some rando's love, she's here to get cash. And cash is always much more appreciated than any sort of trinkets that men think that she would like.

 

She feels the emotion rise up within her, then Steve hands her a book. Worn and old. Definitely well read and loved.

 

Steve scratches at the back of his head. “I'm sorry, it's a used book. But I saw you were really interested in horticulture the other day, and I thought I would get it for you.”

 

Darcy takes this time to really read the cover of the book to find “Herbs and Other Plants: For City Dwellers”.

 

“I couldn't afford a first edition, but-”

 

Darcy places the book on the side table and tackles Steve onto the bed.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers against his lips. For once in her life, she means it.

 

**January**

 

She lays naked as the day she was born and proud of it, right in the middle of his bed. Steve thinks he could get used to a view like this, and it occurs to him that they've met enough times for this kind of situation to feel less novel and more domestic. Then he slaps himself mentally because Darcy's not the kind of gal to settle, let alone settle for him.

 

“Had a good day?”

 

“I brought some sweets for you.”

 

“You didn't have to.”

 

He knows they're from another customer, some bakery shop owner another city down who owns a car and makes regular visits to Darcy's little corner. But she looks so happy offering them to him he thinks he can forgive the tiny pastries for their origin.

 

She holds up the sugar pastille to his lips, her own unconsciously puckering as his own cover the offered treat. Her eyes shutter in pleasure as if she were the one eating it.

 

“Delicious, right?”

 

Steve knows it's rude to talk with food in your mouth so he settles for nodding enthusiastically at her. His cheeks bulge cutely and Darcy wonders what it would be like if she could afford to feed him all the time. Watch his waist grow into his too-big pants (handed down from Bucky, she supposes) and his face fill out like a growing boy should. But she can't because she only makes enough money to take care of herself and a little to save for a rainy day, and Darcy is not one for self-sacrifice no matter how much she likes the guy.

 

While she mused, Steve sneaks slim fingers down the valley of her breasts and settles on the slight paunch of her belly. One thing she can appreciate about his skinny form is that he takes immense pleasure in the excess of flesh she carries. The tips of his fingers, sticky and sugary sweet she imagines, from when he reached for more of the pastille, slip in between her folds now and she wonders if this would add more to her own flavor should he deign to give her a sample.

 

The stray crystals that dot on his lips calls her in, and she pushes his hand away so she could lean forward and catch her mouth on the sweetness.

 

=

 

The other week, he mentioned he was leaving and she wants to take this time to commit him to memory.

 

So against her better judgement, she buys him a pocket watch. It's an old design she hawked off a pawn shop with scratches around the clock turn and an old chain so tarnished she has to buy a new one. It's not much by anyone else's standards, but it's telling in the depths of her feelings because Darceline Lewis did not buy anyone anything ever.

 

She hands it to him as casual as you please, but Steve holds it delicately in his cupped hands like it would disappear if he held it too tight.

 

“What'rya staring at? You don't like it?”

 

He shoots his head up to look her in the eyes, and she's a little taken aback to see the ferocity in them.

 

“I love it.” He says with absolute brevity. She looks at him with such shock that he ducks his head, a shy blush dusting his cheeks. “I'm just not... not used to getting nice things.”

 

Darcy thinks the beat up watch can hardly be called a “nice thing”, in her humble opinion, but it breaks her heart that Steve would. It just shows where he is in life to think of it as a luxury, and goddammit it still doesn't stop Darcy from taking his money just to play house with the kid.

 

She thinks she might just cry at the absolute reverence Steve shows the damn thing so she pokes at it till it opens and shows him the compartment inside.

 

“Look, now you can put what you want in it. A newspaper clipping or photo or something.”

 

“Can I take a photo of you?”

 

She examines him for any hint of joking, but she only finds earnestness in his face. “You don't have a camera, dummy.”

 

“I can borrow one.”

 

“Fine.”

 

He stares at his new gift like it's the greatest thing he'd ever received and just for that alone Darcy wants to buy him nice things all the time just to keep the expression of wonder on his face. Then reality sets in and she imagines the number of men she'd have to get as customers to make that wistful wish come true.

 

She frowns, but puts away behind a smile when Steve looks up at her, the stars in his eyes now aimed at her.

 

She can feel herself swooning at their light. God, she's such an idiot.

 

**February**

 

Darcy goes back to her street corner, but this time she feels like it's a waste of time. Like everything is a waste of time. Life is a waste.

 

She's got rolled up wads of cash hidden in a scooped out part underneath her mattress. The foam of the bed cut out to have a little nook where she stuff in her valuables. Darcy thinks she can run. That she _should_ run. Because this kind of life is finally catching up to her and she feels tired, so tired.

 

She can't run. Not now. Now she's got a fella to wait for, even though she told herself years ago that when she moved out here in the city, she wouldn't let any man hold her back. But Steve isn't any other man. If there's anything good in the world, anything she could believe in, it's his heart. And she hopes to God that his spirit is enough to bring him back home.

 

**March-April-May**

 

Darcy wonders briefly how long she's going to keep waiting. But then she reminds herself that she's never waited around for a man, and she's not about to start now.

 

She had a life before Steve Rogers, and she's not gonna put it on the back burner just for him.

 

In the meantime, Darcy stops going to her corner.

 

In fact, she gets a job as a simple shop girl at a florist's store on the other side of town. No one in her neighborhood would dare give her a respectable job, no matter how they whisper judgmentally behind her back, so she figures it would be better for her to find something a little farther from home.

 

It doesn't pay as well, but Darcy can deal with that. It's even better that Jane the owner seems rather preoccupied with some scientific theories or other in the back of the shop to really pay attention to what Darcy was doing in the front. Not that she would cause a ruckus for she knew how rare it was to get this sort of trust from any other woman these days.

 

Plus, Jane supposedly has a beau somewhere in Scandinavia who can't come to America and marry her right away because of family issues. If there's one thing Darcy can sympathize with, it's a lover stuck overseas.

 

She enjoys what she does, even the tiniest bit, and when the business is slow she imagines skinny fingers drawing all of these flowers into her hair and her naked body on a threadbare mattress.

 

=

 

On her days off she likes going to the library to avoid the stifling loneliness of her own apartment. She haunts the aisles, breathing in the air of old pages, imagining that the embracing smell is from all the books she had received from him.

 

More often than not, she finds herself in the art sections, reading up on anything she can get her hands and eyes on. She tells herself it's to keep her brain sharp and her thoughts flowing, but really it's so she can talk to Steve if (when, not if, she reminds herself) he comes home – to get his mind off war.

 

=

 

A mother and her daughter come by in the shop, looking to purchase flowers for a gravestone. When they leave she feels something in her stomach at the new thought that had taken over her. If she wasn't always careful no matter who she slept with, that mother and daughter very easily could be her in a few years... provided that there was a body left for a grave.

 

Tears blur her vision, and she chastises herself for her momentary weakness. If there's anyone ballsy enough to survive a war, it would be her Steve.

 

**June**

 

He meets her in the library on a humid day in June. He changed a bit (a lot!), her soldier did, but he's got the same angelic face with the same pouty lips and the same girly eyelashes so she figures she can forgive him for transforming out of the skinny artist figure she'd grown to love.

 

She pounces on him with a shriek, arms and legs wrapping around him. One good thing about this new body is the ability to hold her weight, even if she knocks him a little into the book shelves. Her lips latch onto his, and she's about to take him right on the floor when the librarian's scandalized yell sounds from down the hall. They high tail it out of there in record time.

 

She takes him by the elbow and leads him to her flat. People stare at this unfamiliar face for they'd never seen Darcy take a shine to any man before. Neither of them notice, too distracted by the other, afraid that they'd disappear if they looked away for just a second.

 

In what feels like an eternity, they reach her apartment. She pushes him up against the door the moment it closes. Even with this new body, their dynamics remain the same, something they're both happy with if their flushed faces and harsh breathing is anything to judge by. Her hands aim at his belt buckle, pulling it free and onto the floor. The beat up old pocket watch falls out of his pants pocket, and it fills her with a tenderness that she can't explain.

 

They're going to have to talk eventually, but that can wait a little later. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love skinny!Steve. There seriously needs to be more skinny!Steve in the Shieldshock community.


End file.
